Your Protector
by MsEmily
Summary: In the year 850CE, a young woman saves Godric from a horrific ritual. He repays her in kind. Godric/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**Your Protector**

Disclaimer: I own nothing from the Sookieverse. I do own Sólveig.

A/N: First of all, thank you so much to everyone who read, reviewed, and favorited _An Ending, A Beginning_, and _Interim_! I am a huge Eric/Sookie shipper, and there will be more where that came from. Secondly, about this story… I love historical fiction, and once this idea popped into my head I knew I had to write it down. This story takes place around 900 CE in Gamla Uppsala, Sweden. It centers around a ritual sacrifice made to the god Odin on the eve of battle. If you'd like to know more about this ancient Viking ritual, please visit the link in my profile. Enjoy!

A familiar and terrible pattern of notes floated on the sweet summer breeze, repeating ominously. It was the call to temple, the call to ritual... it was the call to bloody sacrifice in the name of the gods. The _godi_, the high priest and master of ceremonies, was calling the people of Uppsala to beg Odin's strength against the incessantly crusading Christians.

Her hands immediately ceased whittling the small wooden bear, and Sólveig whipped her head to the mouth of the small cave in which she'd found refuge these last few months. Everyone within earshot would be gathering at the temple, and she knew her parents would come looking for her if she did not set out now. Rather than have her hiding place discovered, she gently laid the bear down next to his other animal brethren. "I'll finish you soon," she whispered, smoothing away the shavings on its back. She hid her knife in the secret pocket she'd sown into her skirt, and then she exited her hiding place and covered the entrance with a few branches.

She reached the temple just before sunset. The priests were lighting torches in preparation for the ceremony, and beer was being passed through the crowd in large mugs. Sólveig grabbed one as it passed her and downed the contents before anyone could pester her to share. She wanted to be as inebriated as possible for this ritual. She wound her way into the crowd and pinched a second mug from her mother's pudgy fingers. Her mother stared at her in disbelief as she guzzled the thick brew.

"Have ye gone mad, daughter?" she chuckled as Sólveig wiped foam from her upper lip. "And just where have ye been this even? I was expecting ye to help me with supper, Sólveig Hakonardottir."

Sólveig winced at her mother's tone. When she used her full given name, it meant she was about to be in some sort of trouble. She decided to use the least amount of falsehood she could in order to get out of this mess.

"Mother, you know I've taken ill at the thought of marrying one of these village dolts. I needed to go to somewhere that brings me some peace... No one can take Sigurd's place," she said in as serious a voice as she could muster while her world was spinning. Sigurd was her cousin, the man she'd pledged to marry. He was brave, broad chested and fair-haired, and he'd been her first and only true love. Sigurd had died in battle when he was eighteen, and Sólveig was fourteen. In the three years since his death at the hands of the Christians, she'd withdrawn from life in Uppsala. Her youth and joy now manifested only in the wooden animals she so carefully sculpted in her secret hiding place on the mountain.

"Oh, my daughter, you will know a greater love in time," her mother cooed, satisfied by Sólveig's vague reply. "You were but a child when he passed. You're a woman now, and no mistake." Her mother patted her cheek, then grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward the setting sun. "Get ye to the front of the mob. I see a large cup that's yet to be touched," she giggled into her daughter's ear. Once she was free, Sólveig did just as her mother had instructed. As she gulped down the last drop of beer from the cup and swiped an old man's hand from her find, the _godi_ took his place in front of Yggdrasil, the temple's version of the legendary tree of the same name.

It was the same as on the eve of every battle against the Christians. The _godi_ and his helpers would make grand speeches and prayers, stopping every so often to hang a male animal from Yggdrasil in sacrifice to Odin, and the arterial spray from their slit throats would coat those in the front of the crowd of revelers. Sólveig had been to enough of these rituals over the years; she knew when to cover her face.

She held back a groan as she watched the _godi_ hang a pig, a goat, and a lamb from the ancient tree in front of the temple. She despised the sacrifice rituals, but she would never tell a soul. She was a warrior's daughter, and as such would be ridiculed and beaten by her father if anyone were to ever know how the sight of blood and death turned her stomach. So she watched in grim fascination as the _godi_ hanged three more male animals from the thick branches.

"Father Odin, grant us your strength and protection!" he cried. It was hard to hear him over the squeals and various other noises coming from the slowly asphyxiating animals that were thrashing on the ends of their ropes. The _godi_ waved his hand toward his right, and two dejected looking male slaves were brought in front of him.

This was the part Sólveig hated most of all: the human sacrifices. The poor creatures that were slowly bleeding to death already tested her resolve, and this was so much worse. It had to be done, her father had told her once. If Odin would sacrifice himself for knowledge, surely they could offer up a few slaves to garner his aid in battle. Sólveig wondered if her father would feel the same if the townspeople wanted to offer _him_ as a sacrifice.

The two males looked resigned to their fates, and stood meekly before the _godi_. A few seconds later another sacrificial male was led in front of the tree to stand in the center. Ropes did not bind this one; his hands feet were free. Instead, he seemed to be severely incapacitated by several pendants that had been stuck directly into his alabaster skin… silver pendants depicting Odin and Freya. That's when Sólveig realized what she was seeing. This was no man. He was an Ancient One, a Night Walker. She could hear a faint sizzling sound. The pendants were burning through his porcelain skin like pork fat on a hot iron. She gagged.

"Father Odin, we give to you this most honorable of sacrifices, and we humbly ask for victory against the Christian invaders," the _godi_ droned. All three men had ropes slipped around their necks, and they were led up a platform high off the ground.

Sólveig twisted her hands together anxiously. She couldn't keep her eyes off the Night Walker. His pale skin stood in contrast to his dark hair. She could not see his face. He hadn't looked up once since he'd been paraded in front of the people, but she thought he looked young; a boy on the verge of becoming a man. She almost snorted at her ridiculous thoughts. He was probably older than the tree from which he was about to be hung.

Hung he was, along with the two human men. They were all three pushed from their already precarious perches. The slaves' necks broke when the rope snapped tight, but the Ancient One simply hung there, pendants still making that awful sound against his skin. The _godi_ was not yet done with him, either, it seemed.

A small ladder was situated under the hanging Night Walker, and the _godi_ scrambled atop it. Sólveig saw the glint of a ceremonial silver knife in his hands. The _godi_ looked out at the sea of people and smiled. "As the sun rises, so shall our victory be ensured!" With that, he plunged the intricately carved knife into the Ancient One's heart.

The dark-haired boy let out the most horrifying scream Sólveig had ever heard. His head flew back and his eyes and mouth opened wide, fangs extended. Everyone gasped in fear, but Sólveig was not afraid of him. She was afraid _for_ him. The knife would not kill him; her namesake would. They were going to leave him like that, dangling and run-through, until the sun rose and finished him. She wished the tears gathering in her eyes could somehow wash away the sickly taste already befouling her mouth.

Instead of simply weeping she pushed her way to the front of the crowd. She was close now, very close, and she could see the tattoos that adorned his white body. Jagged bands of black surrounded his upper arms and his neck. She thought she'd seen another on his back, but couldn't make it out in the darkness. It didn't matter now. All she could focus on was the deep red blood oozing slowly from the to-be-mortal wound in his strong chest.

Suddenly his eyes shifted to her, and she froze. They were green, like the sea on a cloudy winter day. In those eyes she saw centuries of existence. Joys, sorrows, pains, and fears. Her heart was beating like a frightened bird's. This beautiful, terrible creature was about to meet his end at the hands of her village, and all she could do was watch. Before she could stop it, a tear made its way down her cheek. The Ancient One followed its path to the ground with his eyes. When he looked back up, a tear of his own escaped… it was red.

While Sólveig stared up at the Night Walker, those around her began their celebratory feast. More beer was passed through the crowd, and soon the revelers forgot about everything but the meat, the drink, and the impending battle.

Sometime shortly thereafter a horn sounded in the distance. It could only mean one thing: The Christians had decided to invade at night, rather than wait for dawn. Everyone around her moved like a fire had been lit under them. Women gathered their children, men gathered weapons, and those performing the rituals gathered their paraphernalia. Sólveig had not moved in the last hour, and she could not move, so transfixed was she by the bloody tears of the Ancient One.

After a few minutes, she realized everyone was gone but her and the boy on the end of the rope. She knew she should go home to her mother. She should do anything but what was running through her mind: save the boy. It was insane, stupid even, to think she could help this creature. It was even stupider to think he'd be grateful, but Sólveig had a tender heart, and it was breaking as she watched him suffer. With a shake of her head she made her decision.

The climb to the branch on which the boy hung was more difficult than she'd imagined, but she made it. It was lucky she'd slipped her carving knife into her under things before making her way to the temple earlier. She sawed at the rope with a white-knuckled grip on the hilt of the dagger. It took several minutes, but the twine finally gave way, and the boy fell to the ground with a heavy thud. He didn't move.

Sólveig hurried back down the tree and to his side. Unsure of what to do, she rolled him onto his back. His mouth was open as if he were panting for breath he could not use, and his teeth were bared. Sólveig knew she should be afraid, at least somewhat, but she wasn't. She was determined. Was this how Sigmund had felt, scared and alone as he'd met his end? She knew he'd bled to death in a field not far from where they'd shared their fist kiss. She couldn't let this poor creature share his fate.

Slowly she began removing the silver pendants the _godi_ had so cruelly pinned to him. It was as if they'd melted his flesh where they touched him. She could only imagine the damage the knife had done, and was doing still. He hissed as each pendant came off, but he did not move. Once the last was gone, she looked into his eyes.

"I am going to take out the dagger now. Do you understand?" she asked as she reached a shaking hand to the hilt. The boy nodded. Sólveig sat motionless for a moment, steeling herself for what could happen next. She felt movement below her, and then the boy's cold, white hand wrapped around hers on the dagger.

"Now," he whispered. She pulled with all her might, and the blade came right out, making a sucking sound as it did. The Ancient One roared his pain into the still night air.

A/N: I've finally got a set schedule for work and school, so I'll have Mondays and Wednesdays off, yay! I've got this whole story laid out on paper, so I'll have chapter two up tomorrow sometime. Please read and review, and I'll do my very best to respond to everyone. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Godric, even if I'd like to.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! I love getting feedback, and I'm glad you're all enjoying the story so far.

The cave seemed so much further than Sólveig remembered it being. Then again, she hadn't been hauling one hundred and fifty pounds of literally dead weight on her back on the trip to the temple. The pale-skinned boy had screamed when they'd pulled the knife out. He took one look at the silver blade coated in his red-black blood, and the screaming stopped. His sharp, white teeth retracted, his green eyes rolled back in his skull, and he was out like a flame in water. Sólveig didn't know what to do; she panicked. The boy was supposed to be all right! He should be running off into the night, not lying in a pool of his own blood at her feet. She had to move him; she had to get him away from the eyes of the town. If she were found out now, she'd be banished from Uppsala… if she were so lucky. The rope from which the boy had hung was still around his neck. Sólveig was nothing if not resourceful. Thinking quickly, she removed the rope from the unconscious boy and tied it around his wrists. Somehow she managed to heft him onto her back, slinging his arms around her shoulders. She pulled down on the ropes, securing him to her, and then she started to make the long trek back to her secret hiding place at the foot of the mountains.

The journey was long and arduous, but Sólveig managed to make it to the cave just as the sun began to brighten the sky above the sea. She let the boy fall to the leafy ground so she could remove the branches that hid the entrance from passersby. Once they were to the side, she dragged the boy, not unkindly, into the back of the cave where she was sure the sun would not reach. It was dawn, and she knew her mother would be wondering where she was. She settled down beside the boy who'd most likely lived a hundred lifetimes. The back of her tunic was streaked with his blood, and she removed it carefully to assess the damage. Ruined, is what it was. Blood covered the back of the linen shirt, making amorphous brownish-red patches from shoulder to hip. She could not think of a credible excuse for the stains, or for her absence from her home after the battle cry had gone up. What could she tell her mother? _Sorry, mother… I had to save an ancient, dangerous creature from our barbaric ritual. Sorry, mother… I may have cost our town its spiritual identity, but I saved a boy! Granted, he kills humans and drinks our blood to survive, but that's neither here nor there. _It sounded crazy in her thoughts, so she said it out loud. Yep, still crazy. Sólveig felt sleep pulling at her eyelids. She knew she shouldn't be so relaxed around the deceptively still boy, but she was bone-weary after the two-mile tread. She glanced at the tattooed boy to make sure he hadn't moved. _Sleeping like the dead…_ she thought with a smile. The sides of the cave were not what she'd call comfortable, but Sólveig was too tired to care. She curled her legs up and rested her chin on her knees. Sleep took her as soon as she shut her eyes.

It was so dark in the back of the cave when she woke that Sólveig was afraid she'd slept through the whole day. It took her a few minutes to unwind her stiff, sore legs and walk to the mouth of the cave. The sun was high in the sky, so it must still be mid-afternoon. Her growling stomach then reminded her she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast the previous morning. She peered back into the darkness of the cave. _I wonder how long it's been since he's eaten?_ she wondered, and then mentally berated herself. How long _had_ it been since he'd killed a man, or maybe a woman? The thought of him killing and eating a child rose unbidden, and she made a slight sound of disgust in the back of her throat. Well, she had saved him, and now she had to concern herself with his feeding habits. Her stomach growled again, much louder this time. With a resigned sigh she grabbed the rope that had been used to hang the ancient boy, and a small wooden cage she'd made the previous summer. She hoped he liked rabbit blood.

The mountain stream was pure and cool, and it felt wonderful on Sólveig's aching muscles. She scrubbed her bloodied tunic on a flat stone by the shore and managed to wash away most of the stains. Once it was dry she could tell her mother she'd fallen on her back in the mud during the post-celebratory battle frenzy. It wasn't the cleverest of stories, but it was better than telling her she'd hauled a bleeding Night Walker up the mountain on her back. She'd also discovered a fair amount of dried blood caked in her hair, so she took sand from the bank of the stream and kneaded it through her honeyed locks until the water around her ran clear again. Once she was clean to her satisfaction, she put on her under things. Her tunic and skirt would have to dry before she dare wore them again, and she had a rabbit to trap. It would only be practical to leave off her wet clothing, and she needed to be able to move freely. Besides, no one was here to see her indecency. So off she went into the woods, whistling an old hunting tune her father had taught her.

The rabbit had been surprisingly easy to catch. She'd taken her knife to the rope and stripped a bit of twine from it to make the snare thinner, and she'd put a few wild berries into the center of the loop on the leafy forest floor. In all honesty, it was the most hastily made trap she'd ever attempted to use, and she didn't expect to catch a damned thing. She guessed rabbits must be pretty stupid, though, because there he was, dangling by a foot and screaming like he was being boiled alive. He was a good-sized male, and he barely fit into the little cage she'd brought. Sólveig removed the rope from his foot and from the branch to which it had been attached; she didn't want anyone stumbling across it and finding her hideout. The sun was sinking behind the mountain now, so she had to move fast if she wanted to make it back to the cave and get a fire started by dark. She planned to let the Ancient One drain the animal of its blood, and then she would cook and eat the meat herself. She chewed on a handful of wild berries as she collected her clothes from the trees by the stream. They were sweet and juicy, and they filled her stomach in a pleasant way, but the thought of freshly caught rabbit set her mouth to watering with abandon.

By the time the boy's green eyes cracked open it was fully dark, and Sólveig had made a fire out of the wood she'd chopped and stacked in the cave that spring. He looked about for a moment, taking in the pile of logs in the corner, the various cooking utensils scattered here and there, and lastly, the small wooden table on which four animal figurines watched him with unseeing eyes.

"This is where I come when I want to be alone."

The girl's voice came from beyond the fire, startling him back to reality. He struggled to sit up, and the girl watched him with an edge of alarm in her blue eyes. When she saw his obvious discomfort, she moved closer. He got a good look at her then. She had impossibly long dark blonde hair, and deep blue eyes. They reminded him of a calm sea on a sunny day, something he hadn't seen in a millennia. She was beside him now, and he narrowed his eyes at her proximity. Her small, delicate hands rose up and she hesitantly traced one of the pendant marks with her finger.

"Why haven't these healed yet?" she wondered aloud. He said nothing, so she continued tracing the wounds and musing. "The legends say your kind are immortal. My friend Jorgen watched one of you be run-through with a sword. As soon as it was removed the wound closed over. Why haven't yours done the same?" she asked him this last question directly, looking into his eyes. He debated on saying anything to her. After all, she was just a human girl, and as such wasn't good for much besides a meal and a fuck. She _had_ saved him from certain death, however, and it seemed she was genuinely curious and unafraid of him. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he found his voice.

"It's the silver," he whispered, then cleared his throat. In a stronger voice, he continued, "The charms they placed on me, the knife they used to incapacitate me, they were made of silver. It is poison to our kind." He gave her a questioning look. "I thought all humans knew this?"

The girl looked indignant. "I'm sorry, I don't sit around all day trying to think of ways to kill your kind," she huffed.

The boy smiled. "No, just how to save us."

At this her face went from righteous indignation to crestfallen in the space of a heartbeat. She looked at him with sad eyes. "What they did to you was cruel. I couldn't let anyone, even a monster, die that way." She turned her back to him and poked at the fire for a moment. The boy thought she'd given up on the conversation when she began to speak in hushed tones. If he didn't have an incredibly acute sense of hearing, he would never have made out the words falling from her lips. "The only man I've ever loved bled to death on a battlefield. He must have been so scared. He was all alone. When I saw you hanging there, the whole world against you, I thought of him. I know you'll think I'm silly for saying this, but you looked so frightened, and so… young. When everyone left, I knew I had to help you. I had to protect you, because no one else would," she finished, and by this time she'd turned to face him again. Tears were making their way down her cheeks, dripping quietly to the cave floor.

The boy was struck dumb. A human had saved his life, and now she was crying for him for the second time. He didn't quite know what to think about the situation, but he realized now that he couldn't kill her as he'd originally planned after waking. It would cause him guilt, if only a little, but even a little guilt was difficult to carry for eternity.

"What is your name?" he asked. "Mine is Godric."

The girl wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "I'm Sólveig," she sniffed. They regarded each other in the firelight for a moment, and then an idea must have struck the girl, because she scurried to the other side of the flames. When she returned she was carrying a large rabbit in a cage that seemed too small to hold it. "I caught him when I went out earlier. I wasn't sure you'd like rabbit, but I do, and I'm starved!" She held it out to him, cage and all, but he curled his lip at the thing. "What's wrong?" she asked. She really was a very naïve girl, he thought.

"I cannot eat it," he explained. "We can only drink human blood. It won't kill me, but it will be coming back up as soon as I swallow it." Sólveig made a face at this bit of information. "I need to feed if I'm to heal sooner rather than later. I'd like to be on my feet before dawn."

The girl raised an eyebrow at him, and then shifted her gaze around the cave. She found whatever it was she'd been looking for, and she leaned past Godric in order to grab the thing. He caught her scent as her hair floated near his face. She smelled of sunlight, leaves, and innocence. It was going to be a test of his resolve not to drain her dry. When she sat back on her haunches she was holding a small wooden bowl. Combined with the little animal figures and crude furniture he'd seen in the cave, he figured her for a carpenter's daughter. Whatever she was, she was flashing a small blade in his general direction. "What are you doing?" he asked, more curious than alarmed. The blade was pithy, maybe three inches long, and dull-looking. It had seen a lot of use. The girl didn't answer his question. Instead, she held her wrist over the bowl, and with a deep breath, sliced it open.

Godric smelled the depth of her innocence as soon as the cut was made. His fangs were out in an instant. His eyes went wide, and his nostrils flared as he took in the almost otherworldly scent of virgin blood. She was insane, obviously. That was the only reason a virgin would ever cut her wrist in front of a hungry, injured creature such as him. He watched the blood pool into the shallow bowl with rapt attention. He wished, for a moment, that he still had the capacity to drool. After a tortuously long minute, the blood stopped flowing from her self-inflicted wound. She wrapped her other hand around the cut and held out the bowl to Godric. "Drink it," she said, and he could hear the note of pain and anxiety laced in her voice. He wanted nothing more than to take the bowl from her and lick it clean, but his body was not cooperating.

"I can't lift my arms," he said, or rather whined. It was so close, and he wanted to drink it while it was still warm.

"You helped me pull the dagger from your chest, and now you can't lift your arms?" she asked incredulously.

"I'm not sure how this works, I've never been stuck through the heart with a silver dagger," Godric growled. The girl backed away at the noise, taking the precious, hot blood with her. He realized his mistake and hurried to correct it. "Please come back, I'm sorry. I'm very hungry. Once I feed I'll be less temperamental, I swear."

Sólveig nodded and scooted herself back to his side. She lifted the bowl to his lips, tilted it back, and watched as his eyes closed in bliss. It was almost erotic, the way he was enjoying her life's blood. She felt her heart quicken its pace, and she chewed on her lip to quell the nervous feeling in her stomach. When there was nothing but a thin coating of blood left in the bowl, he pulled his mouth away. Slowly, he lifted his arms up to cup the bowl in his large hands. He took it from her and licked it, just as he'd wanted, a terrifying smile on his ruby-stained lips. She couldn't pull her eyes from him. He was beautiful and dangerous and he was drinking her blood like it was the nectar of the gods. She wanted to give him more just to watch the expressions of delight cross his face again, so she reached to take the bowl from him.

He could hear her heart hammering in her chest. She was equal parts aroused and frightened. He didn't blame her for being afraid. She should be. When she reached for the bowl, he grabbed her injured wrist and turned it over, feeling her pulse thrumming beneath the golden skin. "I'm going to cut again," she said in a quiet voice. He smiled at her, fangs gleaming in the firelight.

"If you keep cutting yourself, everyone in your village will think you're mad," he said. She held the blade to her wrist once again, slightly higher this time.

"What makes you think they don't already?" she chuckled, and then she made the second slice across the thin skin.

Godric kept his grip firm on her wrist. His green eyes met her blue ones. He didn't want to drink from the bowl again; he wanted his ambrosia straight from the source. Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he brought her wrist to his mouth and took a deep pull. Her reaction was immediate and charming. "Oh," she breathed, and her cheeks flushed red. Her heart never stopped its pounding, and the scent of her arousal grew stronger. He drank deeply, watching the girl closely. This time it was she who closed her eyes in ecstasy. "S-Sigurd," she moaned, hair falling into her face.

He began to lap at the cuts on the girl's arm when he was finished. It would be a shame if scars came to mar such fine skin. He bit his tongue and laved at the wounds until they had closed over. Sólveig was slumped against the wall now, breathing deeply, watching his ministrations. When the cuts were gone Godric released her arm, and she held it up to the light, examining it. "Your blood is magic," she whispered in awe. He smiled another toothy smile at her in response.

"Who is Sigurd?" he asked, once her breathing had gone back to normal. Her cheeks flushed crimson again, and she looked down into her lap.

"Sigurd is the name of the man I was telling you about earlier. He was my cousin, and the only man I've ever loved," she said quietly. She sounded on the verge of tears again. "When you were… feeding… I felt the way I did the last time I saw him. We took a blanket to the meadow beside his father's farmhouse, and we watched the ships sail into the harbor. That was the last time he kissed me. I felt like I might die, I was so happy. Then, three days later, he was killed in battle. I haven't been happy since. It's why I come here more often than not; to get away from the reality that someday soon, my parents will betroth me to another man. I'll never love another the way I loved Sigurd, never." Her voice became less shaky, and more resigned as she finished speaking. She looked at him then, and, oddly, her face lit up in a blinding smile.

"What is it?" Godric asked. Sólveig reached her soft hand to the upper left side of his chest.

"I've healed your heart." She beamed her pleasure at his recovery, and he thought perhaps she was not as naïve as she first appeared.

Suddenly a high-pitched gurgling sound filled the room, and Sólveig clapped her hands to her stomach, as if to quell the noise. She looked sheepishly up at Godric. "Well, you already got to eat, didn't you?"

He roared his laughter onto the mountainside.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Godric… damnit!

A/N: My goodness, thank you all for the positive reviews on the last chapter! I enjoyed writing the interactions between Sólveig and Godric, and this chapter will be another exploration into the dynamics of their relationship… Enjoy, and please review.

It took Sólveig less than an hour to skin, clean, and cook the rabbit she'd caught that afternoon. Her stomach made impatient noises all the while, and Godric watched, bemused, as she chastised her body as if it were a petulant child.

"Complaining won't make the rabbit cook any faster," she grumbled to her abdomen. It gurgled loudly at her in return. She sighed and turned the rabbit on the spit. Her eyes never left the roasting meat, and when it was cooked to her satisfaction she nearly ripped the spit from its supports in her haste.

"The way you're devouring that rabbit makes me want to eat again as well," Godric grinned mischievously. Sólveig looked up from her rabbit long enough to stick her tongue out at him playfully, and then she went right back to eating. Her actions never failed to rouse his curiosity, and this time was no different. This girl was a puzzle. She carried such sadness for Sigurd, her lost love; he could see it in her eyes. She'd told him she hadn't felt happiness since his death, but here she was, smiling and teasing him. It was almost as if his presence was the cause of her newfound joy. Godric thought it both wonderful and terrible that a girl so pure and kind could only be made to smile by a creature who could, and under normal circumstances would, kill her if he so desired. _It would be so easy_, he mused silently, _to snap her slender neck._ He shook his head, disconcerted by his own dark thoughts. He glanced back at her; she'd finished her meal in record time.

Sólveig patted her tummy contentedly as she put away the various utensils she'd used to cook and eat the rabbit. She could feel the immortal's eyes on her, and it made her more than a little nervous. When she turned around and peered over the fire at him, he looked away quickly. She hoped he'd not been thinking of doing horrible things to her. He was the best company she'd had in the last three years.

"There's a stream not far from here," she said, walking toward him slowly. "I need to wash the grease and soot from my hands, and you're still covered in your own blood." It was true. His wounds had healed, but the blood had caked itself to his skin. The way it had cracked as it dried reminded Sólveig of the parched earth during a drought. Godric brought a hand up to his stomach to pick away a flake of the black, crusted stuff.

"I must look a fright," he said.

"I'm sure you're quite frightening when you're clean, too," she grinned, then held out a hand to him, "and you did say you wanted to be on your feet by sunrise."

He gave her a look that made her feel a bit weak in the knees, and then he was standing before she could blink. She didn't know whether to be overjoyed at his miraculous recovery, or afraid of his sudden strength. There wasn't much time to think about the appropriate emotion, however; he took her in his arms and grinned at her, fangs extended once more. "Hold tight," he said in a voice barely above a whisper, and then they were out of the cave and in the moonlit night air. They didn't touch the ground until Godric reached the stream.

He set her down gently on her feet when he landed, and she noticed, as she stood next to him in that moment, that he was only a few inches taller than she. He gave her one more smile, and then he set off toward the black water. With no sense of modesty, he stripped off the dingy linen pants he wore and waded waist-deep into the cool stream, splashing himself to rinse the bloody patchwork from his chest. His bare rear end was as white as the rest of his porcelain skin, and the large tattoo covering his upper back stood out in stark contrast. Something else caught her eye then, just to the right of the snake-like animal that adorned his spine. It looked red and strangely puffed, like a scar made by a branding iron. She turned this thought over and over in her mind. Had he been a slave before he'd been made into an immortal creature of the night? Had he been looked down on and despised in life, only to be assigned the same fate in death? The thought left Sólveig breathless in its wake. She had to wonder if hers had been the first kind hand to touch him in a very long time.

Damning the consequences, she pulled off her stained tunic and skirt to join him in the stream. He turned to face her as soon as her toes hit the water. She knew her thin undergarments did very little to hide her body from him, but she felt no shame as she walked, step by measured step, toward him. His entire body went rigid, as if he were a statue. The nervous, jittery feeling settled into her stomach again, just as it did every time he pierced her with his stormy green gaze. He didn't move, didn't so much as blink, as she circled around him. Only when her curious fingers touched the red mark on his back did he shake himself from whatever daze in which he'd found himself. He shivered, and Sólveig knew it wasn't from the warm summer air.

"Who did this to you?" she asked, concern etched in her voice. "Were you a slave before… before you were made immortal?"

He bent to scoop more water onto his nearly clean chest before he answered her. "I was eighteen years old when the one who made me came to my village," he began slowly. "Yes, I was a slave. That mark was the symbol of my master's ownership," he said, gesturing to his shoulder. "One day a strange man wandered into the village. He was wearing expensive furs and golden rings, and I thought he was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen. He told me he could take me away from all the pain, the wretchedness of my existence… but it was a lie." He paused and turned back to look into Sólveig's blue eyes. She had the absurd realization that this was the most he'd said to her since she'd cut him from the tree. "I only knew hunger, and death, and madness. It has taken me centuries to control the darkness inside myself, and I still thought of draining you when I awoke in the cave tonight." He shifted his gaze to the inky black water. "When I leave here, I will kill again, and I will feel little remorse. This is what it is to live forever," he finished. His eyes had clouded over, as if he had retreated into himself.

Sólveig didn't know what to say. She had known Godric was a dangerous, murderous creature who killed humans to survive, but he'd been so civil to her it had been hard to imagine him doing just that. When he said he'd feel no remorse for the deaths he would cause in the future, she wondered why he hadn't already drained her dry. Ignoring the panicky feeling in her chest, she reached out and took his hand in hers. He didn't pull away, which surprised her. His hand was larger than hers, strong, and cool to the touch. She looked up at him to gauge his reaction, and she found him staring at her with an intensity that caused the panicky feeling to increase ten fold. It took her a minute to find the courage to speak.

"There is nothing in the world I can say to take away the pain, or erase the wretchedness from your life, but… you will always have a friend, a protector, in me," she said in hushed tones. Godric brought his other hand from the water to cup her warm cheek.

"Truly, you are the most fearless being I have met in a thousand years." He moved his body close to hers, and he could feel the heat radiating from her, warming his entire being. Her heartbeat jumped as he came nearer, and he found himself smiling. The hand on her face trailed slowly down her neck, brushing the long blonde hair away from her shoulder. He leaned toward her then, and placed his nose above the gentle curve where her throat and shoulder joined. She gasped when his free hand found her lower back. Her heart was hammering, pounding madly, and he could sense her anxiety. He shook his head as he inhaled the intoxicating scent of her. "Do not be afraid of me, Sólveig. I won't hurt you," he rumbled into her ear, "but you will be screaming my name." She made a soft noise in the back of her throat, and her knees gave way. He held her upright, pulling her into his arms once again.

She was exquisite in her desire. Her face was flushed, hey blue eyes were like the midnight sky, and her breasts pushed into his chest as her breathing grew more erratic. He was the first man to touch her this way, he knew, and she was responding to him like he'd never dreamed. He had wanted to take her the first time he'd seen her in the cave, all sunshine and glowing skin, but he'd imagined he'd have to force her. He couldn't envision her being so willing to be intimate with a creature such as he, but here they were, and oh, how he wanted her.

He picked her up and moved them to the soft grass beyond the bank of the stream where he sat with her straddling him. She didn't say a word; instead, she brought a hand to his mouth and lifted his upper lip, exposing a fang to the moonlight. He only watched her, content to let her take her time exploring. She traced the fang, and then his lower lip, with her thumb. Then, very slowly, she leaned into him and placed her lips on his. She was fire to his ice, and she was burning for him. He ached for her, and knew she could feel the evidence of his arousal in their intimate position. He deepened the kiss, and she moaned softly into his mouth. The hands that had been idle at his side now came up to cradle her head and pull her tight against him. After a moment he broke off the kiss and looked into her dazed eyes.

"If you do not want this as much as I, tell me now, or I fear I'll take you anyway," he growled. Her eyes focused on his, and she smiled that brilliant smile for him.

"I am yours to take."

Godric didn't need any more encouragement. In the next instant his lips were on hers again, and his hands were drawing her thin undershirt over her head. "You are lovely," he breathed into her ear, and she shuddered. His large hands swept over her shoulders and down her side, and one came back up to cup her breast carefully. Her breath hitched in her throat when he ran his thumb over her nipple, causing the dusky peak to stiffen. "You are lovely, and you are mine," he said, and then he lowered her back onto the grass with care. Her underskirt was off in a second, and she was laid bare beneath his gaze. She looked like Aphrodite to him, her golden hair framing her head like a halo. He wanted to remember this moment always, to capture its image in his mind so he could look back on this evening and know that someone, be they human or immortal, had cared for him enough to trust him.

She lifted her arms, beckoning to him. The muscles in his arms and back stiffened as he lowered himself between her thighs, and he realized he was actually afraid of hurting her. She must have felt his hesitation, because she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer. "Please, Godric," she whispered, looking into his eyes with a longing that would have stolen his breath if he'd had it.

"I'm afraid this will hurt," he admitted. Truthfully, it had been so long since he'd bedded a willing woman, and a virgin at that, he'd forgotten what it was like.

"You can't hurt me," she said, arching up into him, and in that moment he believed her.

He took his time, moving slowly, letting her body adjust to him. Not once did she cry out in pain; her breath left her in soft puffs, and her head tilted back, eyes closed in bliss. By the time he was inside her fully, she was keening and mewling and moaning his name in the most passionate voice he'd ever heard from a woman. He increased his pace slowly, and soon he was thrusting into her with wild abandon as she drummed into his back with her heels. He could feel her climax approaching, and when the wave of his desire reached its peak, he sank his teeth into the delicate skin of her throat. Sólveig screamed his name with her release, and it was music to Godric's ancient ears. Brilliant colors flashed behind her eyes, and she rode the surge of pleasure over and over again until she was shaking and spent beneath him.

He remained poised above her so as not to crush her beneath his weight, but he let his head rest on her heaving bosom. A smirk formed on his lips, and he kissed his way up her chest and neck, stopping only to carefully lick closed the small puncture wounds he'd made in the throes of passion. Soon, all that remained of the evidence of their coupling were two raised pink dots. Satisfied with his handiwork, he continued trailing kisses up her neck. He reached her ear, letting his teeth graze the lobe, and he whispered teasingly, "I did say you'd be screaming my name." When he pulled back to look at her, he expected to see a sated glow on her face. He was horrified to find tears in her eyes, instead. There was a sickening moment of doubt in his mind. What had he done wrong? Hadn't she been as eager as he to feel her skin against his? All his questions were answered when she wiped the tears away and laughed out loud.

"I remember this," she said as she pulled him down to her side. She held his head to her chest and heard him sigh in what sounded like relief. Delicate fingers ran through his short, dark hair and caressed his smooth face. "This is happiness," she breathed contentedly, and Godric's fears dissipated into nothingness.

They lay in stillness for a while, basking in the afterglow. It was as if the whole world had disappeared, and they were the only ones left in it. Suddenly, her whole body seemed to stiffen, and she raised herself into a sitting position. A dreadful thought had just blindsided her. She had to go home tomorrow. It had been two days since the Christians had struck, and she was sure the battles would be over by now. Her mother was probably sick with worry, and her father… she shuddered to think what he would do to her when she walked in the door that next morning. Godric was watching her with that same, singular intensity, but he didn't question her movement. Sólveig looked down at him with a mixture of fear and worry.

"I have to return to the village at sunrise," she said quietly, head bowed. "I'm going to be in a great deal of trouble for leaving my mother by herself while father was fighting." The possibility that anyone had seen her rescue the immortal never crossed her mind. She was sure that, had someone watched her cut him loose and carry him away, they'd have also followed her to the cave and killed them both outright. Of course, she'd seen no one but Godric the last two days, and she was reasonably certain she was safe in that regard.

He joined her in sitting on the cool grass, taking her small hands in his larger ones. She was so fragile, as were all humans, so delicate. He imagined her father would beat her for her waywardness, and he realized there was nothing he could do to stop it. The thought made him uncomfortable. Not only did he feel some sort of attachment to his human savior, which he'd have found impossible just days ago, but he was put in the unusual position of feeling powerless as well. In a thousand years of roaming the world, a millennia of killing, raping, and taking what he wanted when he wanted it, Godric had never felt anything _but_ powerful. He pushed the feeling away, reminding himself that even if he could not stop her from being beaten, he could come for her at dark and ease her pain. She had said it, after all: his blood was magic.

"I want to see you one last time before I leave," he said, looking into her deep blue eyes. "When night falls I'll come for you."

She looked at him in askance. "How will you find me?"

A grin split his lips, and his white teeth flashed in the moonlight. He took one of his hands from hers and tapped his nose. Sólveig wrinkled her own in response. "You can _smell_ me?" she asked, a giggle threatening to make its way past her upturned lips. Godric nodded, grin still firmly in place. "What do I smell like?" she continued her line of questioning.

"You smell like sunlight, and leaves that have fallen to the forest floor, and… me." His grin only grew as he watched her squirm under his gaze.

He could smell himself on her. It was disconcerting, but it was also strangely arousing. She realized with sick fascination that he could probably smell that, as well. He inhaled deeply, eyes closing as he breathed in the heady scent of her desire. In a flash he was on his back, lifting her body over the top of his so that her knees straddled his waist. She could feel the evidence of his own arousal pressing into her most intimate of areas. A gasp slipped from her as he slowly guided himself back into her willing body.

"I will come for you tomorrow, Sólveig," he said as he began a measured rhythm, "so come for me now."

Godric took his time with her, and she cried his name like a mantra, over and over again. She was his, he thought. She was his, and, though it frightened him for some as yet unknown reason, he was hers as well. They made love in the soft, cool grass until the sky began to pinken with the impending dawn.


	4. Chapter 4

If it weren't for a pair of boisterous little birds dueling for a female's attention, Sólveig might have slept until the sun set again that night. Their fight brought them fluttering and squabbling to the back of the cave where she was sleeping soundly on Godric's solid, immobile chest. Her eyes shot open and she stifled a scream as the birds collided in mid-air, just inches from her face. The two feisty males tumbled to the ground, feathers flying, and Sólveig swept at them with her hands.

"Shoo, get out of here you noisy little cretins!" she yelled.

The birds finally realized they weren't alone, and they flew out of the mouth of the cave, one right behind the other. The sounds of their continued rivalry were carried back to her on the summer breeze, and she glanced down at Godric with a smile. Nothing could disturb the slumber of the dead, she mused as she stroked his white cheek.

A glance at the cave's entrance told her it was near mid-day, and she sighed as she realized it was time to return to her family home. What had started as an admittedly insane plot to save a Night Walker from certain doom at the hands of her people had evolved into a sort of kinship between the two. Sólveig had taught the immortal about compassion and the value of trusting others, and in return he had given her something she'd previously found unimaginable: joy. He'd made her smile more times in the last two days than she had in years, and the pleasure he'd brought her last night had been indescribably wonderful. Thinking about the words he'd said to her and the gentle way his fingers had coaxed the desire from her body brought a blush to her tanned face. With a shake she cleared her head of the distracting images. She had to get home soon; her father would have returned from battle and her mother was likely in hysterics at her disappearance.

Sólveig donned her shirt and skirt quietly, slipping her much-used knife into the waist of her undergarments. She cleared the fire pit of its previous remains and stacked a few logs and dry kindling as well as a flint for Godric to use that evening. She didn't know if he would need the light, but she hoped he would appreciate the gesture anyway. The fire was prepped, her belongings gathered, and all she could do now was stare mournfully at the sleeping boy. Tonight would be the last time she'd see him. A sort of dull ache settled in her breast, and she realized this is how she'd felt watching Sigurd walk away from her into that fateful battle three summers ago. Her legs folded underneath her, and she reached out to smooth a bronzed hand through his wild black hair.

"I will not say goodbye yet," she whispered in his ear. "I'll hold you to your promise." A delicate brush of her warm lips across his cool ones punctuated the statement, and then Sólveig made her way out of the cave and into the sunlight.

The journey back to her parents' home took less than an hour, but it was the longest hour of her life. Questions, niggling doubts, began to weave themselves in and around her mind like vines on a tree. Would her parents be angry when she finally walked through the door? She had ventured off to her cave many times before, and in fact had often been gone longer than the two days spent caring for the injured immortal; however, her latest disappearance had occurred on the eve of an important battle, and she was sure her mother would have it out with her when she returned. There was nothing she could do even if they raged at her. She'd taken many a beating from her father for previous departures, and the only lesson they had taught her was that bruises, on skin and heart alike, all healed with time.

She resigned herself to whatever fate might befall her concerning her mother and father, and then she began the arduous process of cataloguing the myriad emotions she felt when her thoughts turned to Godric. It was a fitting name for one as old and powerful as he. The 'strong god' he was, indeed.

The first time she'd seen him he'd looked almost pitiful; pendants melting his alabaster flesh, head hung low, as if he was ashamed he'd been caught by such weak creatures as the men from her village. That first night she had been afraid of him. She was terrified he'd awaken as she hauled his body up the mountain to the cave, kill her, drain her of her precious blood, and leave her corpse in the woods. In reality, he hadn't so much as twitched, so when the sun had made its way above the horizon she'd felt considerably relieved, and had even fallen asleep next to his prone form.

The second evening she'd been wary, but more or less unafraid of the green-eyed boy. Initially he'd deigned only to glare at her in silence as she puttered about the cave, but eventually her curiosity about his kind won him over, and he spoke to her like they were old friends. In a fit of what she assumed was insanity, she'd cut her wrist and let him feed from her. It was a frightening and madly arousing thing, but as she watched him bite his own tongue to heal her slashed wrist, she felt the beginnings of trust forming between them. She had told him about Sigurd's demise, then, and how it had affected her life. She had never spoken about her loss to anyone, really, and his genuine curiosity, combined with his failure to laugh at or demean her for her emotions, had endeared him to her.

Sólveig couldn't help the blush that graced her cheeks when she thought about their time together by the stream. She had only meant to wash herself of the grease and soot from her meal, but as soon as he'd rid himself of his linen pants, all rational thought went out the window. She knew, in some sense, that she was provoking him when she traced the brand that marred his otherwise flawless skin, even as she calmly asked him about his life before he'd been made immortal. It came as no real surprise when he'd moved nearer to her, their hands intertwined, but her knees went weak when he whispered those devilish words into her ear. The rest of the evening had been a blur of passion and ecstasy, and Godric had filled Sólveig with a renewed sense of joy… something she'd thought forever lost after Sigurd's untimely death. It was with this feeling of lightness that she skipped and hopped her way out of the woods and down the rolling hills to her home.

The door was propped open as it usually was, and she poked her head inside to find her mother hunched over in the center of the large room. Warning bells went off in her mind. Where was her father? Cautiously, Sólveig tiptoed into the room, not wanting to startle her obviously weeping mother. She saw the helmet in her hands as she made her way around the older woman, and instantly she knew why her mother wept.

Teary, red-rimmed eyes met wide, disbelieving ones, and her mother let out a cry so mournful it shattered her heart into a thousand pieces.

"Your father is in Valhalla!" she wailed, reaching out to her daughter. Her thick fingers grasped the collar of Sólveig's shirt, and she pulled down roughly, exposing her neck. Two shiny pink dots, the only evidence of her time spent with Godric, glared harshly in the late-afternoon sun. "Your father is dead, child, and you'll be joining him soon." The words were spoken with an air of finality. Sólveig wrenched her shirt away from her mother's hold and turned to leave, but froze when she saw four men in the doorway. The _godi_, the village chief, and two men brandishing small swords blocked her only means of escape.

"It's true, then," the _godi_ shrieked. "You have brought this ruin upon us!"

Sólveig only shook her head and put her hands out in front of her as if to stop their advance. How had they known? She'd been so sure no one had seen her cut Godric from Yggdrasil. Obviously, someone had.

"Three hundred men died in that battle. You brought the wrath of the gods upon us when you freed our sacrifice. That is treason!" he continued, voice elevating in pitch and volume as he and the two armed men began to circle her. "For this, you will be put to death!" The _godi_ spat at her feet, and, as if this were their signal, the sword-wielding guards grabbed her by her arms. She thought about screaming for her mother to save her, but one look told her all she needed to know. There would be no helping her. Any fight she might have had vanished in that instant.

The guards dragged her out the door of her home, but stopped when they encountered the village chief who stood just outside.

"Bring her to the temple," he said, voice level as he stared, unforgiving, at the top of her bowed head. "We will execute her at sunrise. Make sure you let everyone know the traitor has been caught, and will receive her just punishment on the morrow."

Fear welled up in her chest, and the first notes of panic set in her throat. "Please, no," she whispered.

Her plea went unheeded, and the men at her sides began to haul her bodily in the direction of the temple. The fear was made manifest then, and she screamed her terror to the world. Vainly, she wished that her friend, her immortal lover, might save her from the sword as surely as she'd saved him from the sun.

A/N: And the plot thickens… Sorry for the delay between updates, but I had to write and deliver my first speech in Public Speaking this week. Stupid real life ::sigh:: The next chapter will be out Wednesday, and it should be much longer than this one. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: If you're squicked by descriptions of sexual violence, please do not read this chapter. This story has been rated M for a very good reason. That said, this chapter will be narrated by our main characters. If you do stick around, please review.

**Sólveig's POV:**

The last thing I remember, before being tossed onto the dirt floor of the temple's holding room, was screaming for Godric. I knew he couldn't hear me, I knew it was in vain, but he was the only one who could or would come for me now. As I struggled to my knees on the cold ground, I thought of my mother, and the pitiless way she had looked at me as the guards dragged me out of my home. There was no love, no compassion in her eyes. It was as if she blamed me for my father's death. My father was dead. Her words had not had time to sink in when she'd said them, but as I stared at the hard clay beneath me, hot tears began to blur my vision.

I had never been the most faithful of adherents to our ancient religion, and I could not believe that my act of compassion had condemned my father and three hundred other men to violent deaths. No god worth worshipping would ignore the fervent prayers of his followers to spite one rebellious girl. My tears flowed freely as I mourned my father, our friends, and our loved ones. No amount of tears would bring them back, and my death, I was sure, would do little to comfort their grieving families. I was going to be another victim of our barbaric traditions come sunrise, just like Godric.

I don't know how long I sat in the dirt crying; there was no window in the room. I blew my nose into the dirty sleeve of my shirt. After all, what would a little mucus mean when I was dead at dawn? My eyes were puffy and raw by the time I pulled myself back together, and all I could do was squint into the darkness, scanning my surroundings as best I could.

There was a sliver of light shining from underneath the heavy wooden door, and I scrambled on hands and knees toward it. I lowered my head to the ground, blinking rapidly as the harsh rays of the setting sunlight hit my pupils. Two pairs of leather-clad feet met my sight. Two guards, I thought, and only one door. My brain began turning wildly. If only one of them would enter my cell, I could make a play for his sword. It was a foolish thought, but unless Godric came for me, it might be my only chance at escape. I saw one pair of boots turn my way, so I pushed myself as far away from the door as possible. It seemed my plan was about to be brought into action much sooner than I'd anticipated.

The man who entered was not entirely unfamiliar to me. He had been one of Sigurd's friends, but I could not place his name. His greasy blonde hair was cropped close to his head, and he had a disconcerting leer plastered to his otherwise pleasant-looking face. If he'd known me once, he gave no indication. I didn't know what he wanted, so I said nothing. When he spoke, any escape plan I might have dreamed up crumbled under the weight of his words.

"They say you helped the sacrifice escape. They say you're the reason our fathers and brothers died," he growled, his leer replaced by a look of disgust. "They say you let that evil creature have his way with you." At this last utterance, the tall blonde brought a hand to the laces on his pants. "I say… if that thing's good enough for you, then you should thank your ancestors for what I'm going to do to you." He worked the laces free, and his pants fell to pool around his ankles. I felt bile rise in my throat as I realized what was about to happen. He was going to rape me, and no one was going to stop him.

I considered screaming for the other guard, but I knew that he'd never help me; in fact, he'd most likely join my to-be rapist, and they'd laugh as they ravaged me. Cold fear seeped into every pore in my body, and I pressed my back as far into the wall as I could. The guard advanced, kicking his discarded pants to the side even as he watched fresh tears trail down my cheeks. He had the audacity to laugh.

"What a stupid whore you must be. Are you afraid of me?" he demanded. A dirty hand shot out and grabbed my chin roughly. He looked at me the same way my mother had that morning, and I knew there was no hope. All I could do was nod.

The next thing I felt was my jaw breaking as he punched me, slamming me into the ground. I couldn't even scream, because he was on top of me the minute I landed on my back in the dirt. His hands ripped at my clothing, tearing the last vestiges of modesty from me. I moaned painfully, and he just smiled as his greedy eyes roamed my exposed body. Bony fingers grabbed my breasts and squeezed unmercifully, and I cried out in terror and pain.

"Be quiet, you worthless bitch!" he screamed, slapping me in the face. My already broken jaw was jarred again, and I couldn't stop another moan from escaping my bruised lips. "I'm going to make you wish sunrise would come sooner," he spat, and then he did.

My whole body went numb the minute his fingers found my center. This could not be happening to me. Two days ago I was just an innocent and softhearted girl righting what she felt to be an incredible injustice, and this was my reward. When his fingers were replaced by something larger, I closed my eyes and let the tears come again. I cried silently as he pushed himself in and out, weeping for my lost innocence, and for the friends and family I would never see again.

I hoped it would only take him a few fevered minutes to pound his frustrations into me, but he went on for what seemed like hours, flipping me over and using me to his satisfaction more times than I cared to count. Finally, I let my aching head rest on the cool clay floor. I was resigned to my fate now, and nothing this man could do would hurt me anymore. The reedy man grunted and groaned in the most obscene way, but I didn't so much as sigh. Just as I closed my eyes to welcome the darkness, I felt a rush of air swirl round the room. A draft, I supposed, or the other guard coming to take his turn. I heard what sounded like a scream come from behind me, and felt the intrusive organ that had been ravaging my insides being violently removed. Then there was nothing but blessed silence, and a cool breeze.

**Godric's POV:**

The sun had just dipped behind the mountains when I opened my eyes. In the fading light I could see a stack of dry logs and smaller twigs had been placed carefully in the fire pit, and a flint lay not far from the pile. I almost laughed at the absurdity of a creature like myself needing a fire for anything, but sobered when I realized Sólveig must have gathered the kindling for me, in another of her kind gestures.

The girl was unlike any other I'd met in a thousand years. No mortal woman had ever had a kind word for me, much less cared for me the way she did. The abuse was to be expected, though; she was the first human I'd not killed after feeding. I wasn't sure exactly what it was about her that stayed my bloodlust, but her selflessness and innocence were like a siren's song to my better nature. She was one I could keep with me for a very long time.

I sighed and shook myself from the pointless reverie. Though I might be able to keep the darkness of my immortality at bay, I could never force her to leave her family and her village… even if they had poisoned me with silver and left me to burn with the dawn. An ironic thought flitted through my mind, and I couldn't help but laugh. Sólveig was like an angel, those mythic beings of the Christians her village fought against so diligently. I would have to tell her when next I saw her, and the time was drawing nigh. The sun had gone to his nightly rest, and I had a promise to keep.

Immortals like myself are not bound by the laws of this world. If I were a more patient being, I would have walked silently through the dark forest, taking in the paths and wild brush that must be so familiar to my mortal friend. As it stood, I was more inclined to instant gratification, and so took to the air to make my travel time as short as possible. I caught the heady scent of her as I swooped low, gliding over and down the hills into the outskirts of the seaside village.

The trail led me to a small cottage that was removed from the main road heading into the town, and I smiled as I realized I had found the girl's house. A few windows were left open, and I landed quietly, peering over the edge of a sill.

The whole of the house was but one large room, and Sólveig was nowhere to be found. The only human presence was that of a portly older woman who sat in the very center of the dirt floor, her wide form illuminated only by a candle that flickered in the night air. She was clinging tightly to a well-used helmet, something that must have belonged to her husband. Her sobs echoed through the stillness, and I had the realization that Sólveig's father had never made it home from the battle that night.

"Damn you, girl, damn you!" The woman cried, wringing her hands around the nosepiece of the cast-metal armor. "Ye've brought nothing but misery to us all with your treachery." If they could have, the hairs on my arms would have risen at her wintry tone. "But they'll make you pay, and gods help ye when they do!" She cackled, a disturbing sound to say the least, and her face rose into the firelight. I knew instantly what had transpired here, and why Sólveig was not in her home, mourning her father's death. If her mother was cursing her only daughter, there could be only one reason. Someone had seen her cut me from that tree.

A sudden rage came over me. Somewhere in this village, punishment for a failed sacrifice was being exacted on the only person who'd ever given a damn about me… and her mother did nothing but weep poison tears for herself. I was through the window in an instant; the fat, bawling woman didn't even have a chance to blink before my fingers wrapped around her throat. I lifted her high into the air.

"Tell me where she is!" I roared, throttling her with abandon. "Tell me where they've taken her!"

Her eyes were wild and dewy, and she clawed at me to no avail. I wanted nothing more than to tear the entire village apart, starting with this miserable cow, but I knew the fastest way to find the girl was to… question… her mother. When she stopped struggling, I dropped her to the ground. She choked and coughed, hands fluttering at her breast like a frightened bird. She sat up and looked at me, and then spat in my face.

"You devil, you demon," she screamed. "They've taken her to the temple where she'll meet the fate a traitor deserves!" There it was; that was all I needed to know. Without wiping the spittle from my cheek, I bent down low so she could see my fangs catch the light from the candle.

"You sad, frightened little wretch," I whispered, tonguing an eyetooth for dramatic effect. I wouldn't kill her, but I would enjoy every moment of terror I caused. "Your daughter deserves someone who can protect her from superstitious miscreants such as yourself." It took a moment for the words to sink in, for her to realize the implication therein, but their effect was entirely rewarding.

The fleshy face tilted up, and her eyes locked with mine. Even in the dim light, I could see that her eyes were the same shade of ocean blue as Sólveig's, but they were housed in a much less forgiving frame. Those hate-filled orbs rolled back, and Sólveig's mother fainted dead away. I didn't spare her another glance; I was out the window before she hit the ground.

It was easy to identify the temple from the other buildings in the town. It was easily the largest structure, and it sat elevated on a small hill, the huge tree the villagers called Yggdrasil looming eerily in front. The closer I came, the stronger the smell of my human friend grew. I was perhaps a thousand yards away when the scent changed. I felt my fangs slide down in response. Blood. Sólveig's blood. The anger that had been churning inside my chest was joined by something I rarely felt: fear.

Not fear for myself, but fear for someone else. I'd been afraid for myself for much of my mortal and immortal life alike. This was a different sort of anxiety, one that left me feeling sick to my stomach. I spied a temple guard leaning against his halberd, and the sight of him re-sparked the flame of my righteous anger. He never saw me as I swept past him, but I'm sure he felt me rip out his throat.

The inside of the temple was quiet, but I could smell the blood as well as any hunting dog. At the end of a rear hallway, a dark-haired guard stood with his ear pressed to a large wooden door. I heard another man on the interior of the blocked room moaning like he was in paradise. I licked the blood from my hand and smiled as I crept up on the distracted guard like a thief in the night. My teeth tore into the soft flesh of his neck, and I crushed his windpipe so he couldn't scream. His blood was delicious; he'd been a healthy man, and now he was a dead man. The one who was violating Sólveig behind the door was next.

I knew I could take my time with the villain, but all I wanted was to grab the girl and run. The door swung open with a heavy thud to reveal a bedraggled-looking blonde pumping mindlessly away at the girl. _My_ girl. My fangs were in him, and I was dragging him away from her before he could react. When I turned him around to face me, so he could see the bringer of his doom, he screamed. I smiled, baring my teeth in the most menacing way, and then I drained him dry. The whole process took about ten seconds, and when I was finished I tossed his limp body into the corner of the room like I'd throw away a used handkerchief.

Sólveig lay on her stomach, eyes closed, quiet as the grave. I wanted to check her for injuries, but my biggest concern was getting us out of that town and back to the cave where she'd first healed me. She was light as a feather in my arms, and I carried us out of that dark cell as fast as my supernatural speed would allow. The humans would never be able to track me in the sky, so up we flew.

My eyes drifted to the girl's face, and I bit my lip to stop the cry of rage that threatened to burst forth. Both of her eyes were ringed with dark purple, and her jaw seemed offset. The bastard had broken it. I cradled her more gently, shielding her from the cool night air. I had kept my promise; I'd come for her, and I had saved her from the wrath of her murderous people. I hadn't saved her from the ravages of carnally corrupt men, however, and I hoped the ordeal wouldn't break the indomitable spirit I'd come to value so much.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own Godric :(

**A/N:** I had such an amazing time writing from Godric and Sólveig's points of view that I'm continuing this chapter in the same fashion. This is the final chapter in our story, folks; I hope you've enjoyed the ride. Happy reading!

**Godric's POV: **

I knew the girl would be frightened if she awoke to total darkness, so the first thing I did, after laying her down gently, was utilize the fire-making tools she'd left for me. Once the flames were leaping toward the ceiling of the cave, I began the process of examining her bruised and bleeding body. She wore no clothing; it had been torn from her by the criminal who'd so violently abused her. My hands swept the long, blonde hair from her face, and the sight of her caused me to once again bite my lip in anger. I had seen her black eyes and broken jaw on our flight to freedom, but here, in the bright light of the fire, the injuries looked even worse. Blood had trickled from her ears, set loose by the force of the blow that had broken her delicate bones.

My eyes roamed downward, and I dreaded what I would find. More blood was seeping from her core, drying black on the golden skin of her thighs. I resisted the urge to lower my head and lick her clean like a dog. I would have to wake her in order to properly heal her physical, if not mental, wounds. I moved us against the wall of the cave and sat her between my legs.

"Sólveig," I whispered into her blood-encrusted ear, "wake up." My voice must have reached her through the pain, because she moaned and tilted her head gently from side to side. When she spoke, her voice was cracked and dry.

"Godric?" She said my name like a prayer, and I nodded, burying my nose in her silken hair. "It… hurts," she whimpered, but her eyes fluttered open slowly despite the agony it surely caused. The deep blue pools began to overflow, and hot, salty tears made glistening trails down her cheeks.

"You… came… for me," she gritted out between short, quick breaths. I put a finger to her lips and dipped my own to her ear once again.

"Do not try to talk. Your jaw is broken," I told her, and she nodded. She knew she was damaged. There was only one way I could think to help her.

"I'm going to give you my blood so that you may start to heal." As soon as the words left my lips I bit into my left wrist with unsheathed fangs. The blood welled up slowly, and I raised the torn flesh to her mouth.

"Drink." It was not a request, it was a demand, and she acquiesced without a word.

I had never let a human consume my blood before, but the effects were immediate and pronounced. Her pain became mine, her emotions flowed over me like water, and I was drowning in her. She suckled at my wrist like a newborn, and I stroked her hair as her body slowly began to mend itself. Her jaw made a curious crackling sound as it set itself to rights. Once the bones had re-aligned, she pulled her lips from my wounded arm. She let her head fall back onto my chest, and I watched as the bruises encircling her eyes faded in the flickering firelight. We stayed that way, silent and motionless, until I felt her muscles begin to contract in an effort to sit up.

I didn't help her. I knew she'd want to take stock of her remaining injuries herself if there were any left to be discovered. She made no effort to cover herself when she realized she was naked. Her hands roamed her body carefully, splaying out along her chin, her ribs, and her stomach. When they reached her womanhood, she shuddered violently, and looked at me with sad eyes.

"He raped me," she said, and I nodded in agreement. "Did you kill him?" I nodded again, and she jerked her eyes from mine. "Good." It was said without malice or conviction, but she must have known I'd left all those men to rot. She turned to face me again after another moment, and the words she spoke left me stunned.

"Make me forget."

**Sólveig's POV:**

After I closed my eyes to the world, I knew nothing but the comforting fingers of darkness. I wanted nothing more to do with the defilement of my body. When a gentle voice in my ear implored me to wake up, I thought I must have been dreaming. It sounded like Godric.

The moment I was back to consciousness I felt the full agony of my current state, and I moaned my discomfort. I felt myself propped against something solid and cool, and my eyes fluttered open to take in my surroundings. In that instant I knew where I was, and who I was with.

Tears dripped from my eyes as I told him of my pain. He had come for me. He had saved me from death, just as I'd saved him. His fingers cut off my pain-laced utterances, and he confirmed the suspicions I had about my jaw. It was broken, and if the pain was any indication, badly.

He bit his wrist and held the wound to my mouth. This was all he could do to heal me, and the fact that he was even offering was motivation enough. I drank deeply, the metallic liquid coating my tongue and throat in a soothing way. I felt the bones in my jaw slide back into place, and I released his arm. My head lolled backward onto his chest, and I let the blood work its magic. Slowly but surely, I felt my aches and pains disappear.

After a few peaceful moments I sat up, testing the strength in my body. It registered somewhere in the back of my mind that I was naked, but my search for as yet unhealed injuries kept me from caring much. My hands cupped my jaw, but I felt nothing. Next, I checked my ribs, my abdomen. Still nothing. A sense of relief started to flow through me, but then my fingers brushed my inner thighs, and I felt the dried blood still caked there. The memory came rushing back, slamming into me as surely as the vile guard's fist had connected with my jaw. I shuddered then, and turned to look at Godric.

He was so still, so beautiful in the firelight, and my heart thumped painfully in my chest when he caught my eyes.

"He raped me," I said, as if I were telling him the sky was blue. He only nodded. "Did you kill him?" I asked, and I wasn't sure what answer I expected, or wanted. When he nodded again, I turned my face back to the fire. "Good".

I felt Godric's blood rushing through my veins, and it both scared and excited me with its intensity. My mind was racing. I kept seeing the blonde man violating me over and over, when all I wanted was to forget everything that had happened that night. I made a decision and turned to the man, the immortal, who could help me do just that.

"Make me forget," I whispered.

It was the first time I had seen the powerful creature so unsure of himself. I could tell he didn't know what to make of the situation, but I was determined to have him understand. I grasped his cool hand and ran it down my face to my chest, eyes never leaving his. The movement stirred him from his haze, and he pulled his hand away from me.

I wanted to scream, or cry, or both, but before I could even open my mouth Godric had me on my back by the fire. His fangs were extended, and he grazed them along my shoulder. I shuddered and gasped at the sensation.

"How do you suggest I do that?" he breathed into my ear, and I shook my head.

"I don't know. Just… please… I don't want to remember the feel of his hands on me. Help me," I mewled, and felt the embarrassing flow of tears once again. He brought his face to mine, and I could see something in them that made all my fears wash away: compassion. His tongue darted out, deftly catching the drops of moisture on my cheek.

"Don't cry," he cooed, then kissed my forehead, cheeks, and lips. "Let me replace your pain with pleasure." He kissed me again, but this time his lips captured mine with a fervor so strong I couldn't stop the moan that escaped. He trailed kisses all down my body, stopping only when he reached the apex of my thighs.

"I'm sorry," he said, and I looked down to see him staring at my entrance with a pained expression. "I'll never leave you again, my fragile, beautiful human."

I opened my mouth to respond, but was cut off by the feeling of him probing my burning center. He spread my legs and licked at the blood that had dried there. At any other moment in time such a thing might have disgusted me, but as I watched him wash away the last traces of my violation, I thought I could love him. When I was clean, he kissed the inside of my thighs once more, and then plunged his tongue into me. I screamed his name for the first of many times that night.

**Godric's POV:**

She was the most beautiful creature I'd seen in my long life, and it gave me no small bit of satisfaction to know that I was the reason for her pleasure. Her back arched, causing her long hair to sweep the ground as she rode me. Her lithe body moved up and down slowly, and I smiled at the soft gasps of pleasure that slipped from between her sweet lips. I had made love to her for hours after she'd begged me to help her forget the torment to which she'd been subjected. I'd lost count of the times she'd called out my name in ecstasy.

We were bonded now, by blood and circumstance, and though I'd never have imagined it, I was content to stay this way with her as long as she'd have me. I held her tight when she fell forward onto my chest, exhausted. Her breathing eventually returned to normal, and when it did she propped herself up on an elbow.

"Are you thoroughly satisfied?" I asked in an only slightly self-aggrandizing way.

Sólveig's lips curled into a wide smile, and she let out a low chuckle. "Thoroughly."

I raised my hand to tuck a strand of loose hair behind her ear, and she grasped my wrist. I let her stop me, curious as to what she might do. She turned her face into my palm and placed a gentle kiss there. A strange sense of calm and wellbeing washed over me, and I was sure I was feeling her emotions through the bond. The sensation was odd, but awesome. These were things I had not felt in a millennium, and their cause was this slip of a girl in my arms.

"Thank you," she said in a voice so low I was unsure she'd actually spoken.

"For what?" I countered, but smiled at her odd choice of words all the same.

"For saving my life. For caring about me," she intoned, and brought the hand on my arm to my face. "For making me feel so… alive." The irony was not lost on me, nor was the significance of her words. They were the very things I thought about her.

I wanted this girl, this ray of sunlight in my otherwise dark world, to remain by my side.

"Would you stay with me?" I asked her. She didn't answer, so I continued. "I've never met another being like you in all my years. You make me feel things I'd forgotten even existed. If you let me, I want to be your protector, your friend, your lover."

Lust surged through the bond, and whether it was hers or mine was anybody's guess. She almost looked startled when it hit her, and her dark blue eyes met mine. I knew she must be tired by now. The sun would be coming up in due time, and we had explored every inch of each other's bodies for hours. An idea struck me, and I had the sudden urge to end the evening the way we had begun it.

I sat up and pulled her into my arms, then slid back against the hard stone wall of the cave. She made a noise of protest, but I brought her lips to mine to still her objections. When I pulled back she sighed, laying her head against my chest and settling between my outstretched legs.

I let my fingers trail up and down her arms. It was a gesture meant to soothe and comfort, and it had its intended effect. Her breathing slowed, became deeper. She was on the edge of sleep, and when the first rays of dawn crested the horizon, I followed her.

Before oblivion took me, she leaned up to whisper the answer to my question.

"I'll follow you to the end of the world."

Then we slept, and I knew what it meant to be at peace.

**-The End- **

**A/N: **It's the end of one story, but the beginning of another. I had so much fun writing this, and I am definitely planning a sequel to follow Godric and Sólveig's continuing adventures. Join us next time, when we meet a few faces from Godric's past. Thank you all for reading!


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